The Journal
by Jenksel
Summary: Cassandra finds Jenkins's journal; one little peek can't hurt, right? Lots of fluff, feels and bonding.


"Oh, _shoot_!" Cassandra lifted the pen from the sheet of paper she was writing on and irritably shook it several times, as though she could magically refill it with ink by doing so. She was comfortably tucked away in her sitting room this evening, dressed only in a floor-length satin nightgown of dark amethyst and a matching kimono-like robe. She was in the middle of working out some partial-differential equations, and this was just _not_ the time for her pen to die. She tried scribbling it on a scrap piece of paper, hoping to coax just a bit more life out of the implement, but to no avail; the pen was completely dry.

Irritated by the interruption, the young woman sighed and tossed the pen into the nearby wastepaper basket, then opened the drawer of her writing desk in search of a fresh one. After several minutes of frenzied clawing through all of the bits of paper, ribbon, rubber bands, paper clips, leadless pencils, greeting cards, photographs, barrettes and other odds and ends that had somehow found their way into the desk's drawers, Cassandra slammed the last one shut with a frown. There wasn't a single pen or usable pencil anywhere in her desk. The Librarian sighed again; she didn't really want to go all the way back to the workroom for another pen, but it looked like she would have to if she wanted to keep working.

Cassandra stood up and started for the door, then stopped in her tracks as an idea came to her—Jenkins probably had an extra pen she could use in _his_ sitting room! She turned and quickly pattered across their bedroom barefoot to the door leading to his suite of rooms. He was still in the lab working on some arcane experiment, so she turned the heavy brass knob and entered the room without knocking.

She always smiled at the huge difference between her rooms and his. Cassandra's rooms were light, airy and very feminine, with lots of flowers, colors, pillows, lace and little knickknacks. Even the huge whiteboard she used for her work had been made over to suit her tastes, with a pretty, bejeweled frame and a cute mesh rack decorated with sunflowers to hold the erasers and pens for it.

Jenkins's rooms were the exact opposite—dark, brooding, masculine almost to the point of austerity, with dusky, old-fashioned oak wainscoting along the walls, large and sturdily-built Arts and Crafts-style furniture, heavy oaken bookshelves full of neatly-arranged books and papers, with only a few well-chosen _objects d'art_ and paintings tastefully arranged around the room. If ever there was an old-school 'man-cave', this was it.

Cassandra hurried over to the Stickley desk on the far side of the room. She began pulling open the various drawers in search of a pen, being careful to leave the tidy contents as she found them. When she pulled open one drawer, however, a tiny gasp of surprise slipped through her lips as she spied its contents: A single, large, dark-green leather-bound book, its cover stamped in dull gold with one word, "Journal".

Without even thinking, the Librarian lifted the heavy book from the drawer and opened the cover. On the flyleaf was a bookplate depicting a detailed steel-engraving of the formal coat of arms of Sir Galahad and the words "Ex Libris Jenkins" beneath it. Until now she had had no idea that her husband was keeping a journal, and, her equations forgotten now, she was suddenly overwhelmed by curiosity as to what he wrote about.

No sooner had the thought entered her head than Cassandra sharply snapped the cover closed. What was she even thinking!? This was a private journal, its contents were none of her business! Jenkins would be incredibly hurt and disappointed if she violated his trust by reading any of the personal things he had written here!

Still...

She lightly stroked the soft, warm cover with one hand for a moment, biting her lower lip as she thought. She lifted the cover again and turned the flyleaf. On the next page, written in Jenkins's neat, flowing hand was "May 2014 to _". Cassandra caught her breath; he had started this journal just before the arrival of herself and the others to the Annex.

She made her decision; she _had_ to know what Jenkins had written about her after their very first meeting! She promised herself that that's all she would read, just that _one_ entry. Then she would put the book away, go back to her own room and forget she ever saw the journal.

She quickly thumbed through the thick pages with trembling hands until she found the date she was looking for, August 21, 2014. With her heart pounding in her ears, the Librarian took a deep breath, then let her eyes fall to the page.

" _Today I went to the State Forest to pick up Mr. Flynn Carsen, the current Librarian; his Guardian, Colonel Eve Baird; and two young miscreants, Messrs. Ezekiel Jones and Jacob Stone, who, Mr. Carsen informs me, are also Librarians. Mr. Carsen had the misfortune to have been stabbed by Excalibur and was bleeding profusely by the time he arrived in Oregon; I can only blame the delirium caused by his excessive loss of blood for his heretical belief that there can ever be more than_ _one_ _Librarian at a time._

" _I have also been informed that there is also one more 'Librarian', a young woman by the name of Cassandra Cillian. She was not with the others in the forest, however, and I am informed that she has betrayed them—indeed, that she has betrayed the_ _Library_ _and she has thrown her lot in with the Serpent Brotherhood. It was she who let the agents of the Brotherhood into the Library, it was she who was the sole reason Charlene and Judson were forced to cut the anchor chain that bound the Library to this plane. It is because of her that the Library is lost and I now have a pack of interlopers holed up in_ _my_ _Annex, invading my home, interrupting my work, disrupting my life. May God have mercy on her treacherous soul, because I certainly will_ _not_ _should our paths ever cross."_

Cassandra snapped the book shut again. Her stomach ached sickeningly as she remembered those first few days as a Librarian—the wonder she had felt upon learning that magic was real, the all-consuming hope she had felt when Lamia first told her that the Serpent Brotherhood could use that same magic to save her life. She felt the shame again, the humiliation at having betrayed her new friends and how her selfishness had almost cost Flynn his life. And now here, in Jenkins's own words, his own disgust and hatred for her was plainly stated.

She almost put the book back into the drawer, but she couldn't leave it at this. She realized that the date given in the journal was the day _Flynn and the others_ had first met Jenkins, but not the day she and the Caretaker had had _their_ first actual meeting. She picked up the book again and paged through the entries around August 21. She found what she was looking for in the entry for August 30, 2014.

" _The training of the so-called 'Librarians in training' continues. Mr. Jones, a thief by profession, is insufferably arrogant; I wish he would just go away. Mr. Stone is, I understand, some sort of cowboy or oil baron or some such thing, who also happens to be a brilliant historian and linguist. He bears watching, I think, as he seems to have something of an aptitude for things magic—unlike Mr. Jones, who is only interested in an artifact's monetary value. Mr. Stone, however, is reluctant to actually learn about, let alone_ _use_ _, magic. Disappointing._

" _Miss Cillian has finally joined us in Oregon. She is not at all what I was expecting. I thought she would be a cold, calculating, manipulative woman who thinks only of herself and how to twist any given situation to her advantage. Indeed, when I first laid eyes o her and saw her red hair and blue eyes, I was immediately reminded of that accursed Morgan le Fay! But Miss Cillian turns out to be nothing like Morgan. She is quiet, thoughtful, kind, very intelligent._ _Very_ _interested in magic. Encouraging._

" _There is still a great deal of mistrust between the two young men and Miss Cillian. They've been rather cold towards her, their remarks sometimes bordering on cruelty. Understandable, considering what she did, but also misplaced, I think. Miss Cillian bears their ire and suffers in silence for the most part, though on occasion a justifiable flash of temper escapes her._

" _It occurred to me this morning that I really didn't know_ _why_ _she had betrayed the Library, so I took her aside and asked her. She was quite candid with me about her medical condition and its prognosis, she plainly stated that she will die one day soon, and I couldn't help but be saddened by that information. She accepts all of the blame for what happened with the S.B., is wholly resigned to her fate, and I found myself becoming rather angry with Mr. Jones and Mr. Stone for their unforgiving attitude. How could someone so young and naturally vibrant as Miss Cillian be expected to refuse the opportunity to cheat Death when presented with it as she was? The fact that she sacrificed that opportunity for the benefit of Mr. Carsen in the end speaks volumes of her true character. She seems to me to be truly repentant for her actions, and I regret being so judgmental of her before having actually met her."_

Cassandra stopped reading and closed her eyes. She remembered that conversation with Jenkins vividly. Cassandra thought she had seen something like understanding and even sympathy in his eyes as she told him the truth behind her motivation to betray the Library. Surprisingly, he'd been very kind to her, actually offering her sincere words of comfort and encouragement. She remembered going away from that meeting feeling like she had made a new friend in the crusty old Caretaker, especially since not long after their little chat the boys stopped harassing her so much. He never said so, but she knew that Jenkins was responsible for that.

The Librarian shook her head and told herself that she _really_ needed to put the book away. But by now she had a list of dates lining up in her head that she wanted to look up, she wanted to see what Jenkins had really thought about her and certain situations that had come up between them. She just _had_ to know!

She closed the drawer of Jenkins's desk and sat down in the chair. Spreading the heavy journal on the desk blotter, she rapidly flicked through the pages. Jenkins didn't write in the journal every day; from the huge gaps in the dates between entries and from what could see by scanning the pages, it appeared that he wrote only when he needed to 'unload' something, using the book as a way of processing his thoughts and feelings. She searched for a particular date, but stopped suddenly when her name and the word "kiss" on a page caught her eye.

" _July 22, 2015_

 _Miss Cillian, rushing about in her haste to get her things together and get started on a mission in New York City , suddenly ran up to me, stood up on her toes, and kissed my cheek! I was shocked, of course, so much so that I didn't even hear what she said to me before she disappeared through the back door. It's been literally_ _decades_ _since I was last kissed by a beautiful woman, and I must confess that I rather liked it._

" _Did I just refer to Miss Cillian as a beautiful woman? I did, and indeed, she is just that—a_ _very_ _beautiful woman. Flawless skin, lovely long red hair, eyes the color of a clear summer sky, a smile that could melt a Frost Giant's heart. But as beautiful as she is on the outside, I find her inner beauty is even more enchanting. How she is able to remain so..._ _innocent_ _, so..._ _optimistic_ _, to see the best in everyone and_ _everything_ _, even while having a veritable sword of Damocles hanging over her head, is nothing short of remarkable. Perhaps it's the very knowledge that her time here is short that prevents bitterness or cynicism from taking root in her heart._

" _Note to self: Annual cleaning and sharpening of the Sword of Damocles is next week, need to buy a new whetstone."_

Cassandra smiled at the memory, especially of the surprised look on his face when she kissed him, the merest ghost of a smile that came to his normally somber face, the spark in his dark chocolate-brown eyes. It was the first time she'd ever seen him anything close to happy, and so she made sure to greet him every morning after that with a little kiss on his cheek. Jake later told her that on the days when she was on a mission and unable to give him that little kiss, Jenkins was always in an extra-grumpy mood the entire day.

The young Librarian continued to scan the pages as she looked for particular dates. The entries gradually changed in emphasis from being about various experiments and philosophical musings to complaints about Flynn and his 'squirreliness' and about having to train new Librarians, about butting heads with Eve over security and mission protocols, having to adjust to having people underfoot in 'his' Annex.

The entries quickly began to talk about Cassandra more and more frequently. Jenkins praised her intelligence, her mathematical gifts, her cleverness, her curiosity, praised her for her ability to quickly grasp and understand various magical principles and practices. He also spoke repeatedly of her kindness, her generosity, her compassion, her positivity, her beauty.

He wrote of how much he enjoyed working with her, especially in the lab, mostly because he could then be alone with her, having wonderful conversations about magic and science and how the two related to each other. He spoke of how comfortable he felt around her, how easy she was to talk to, how her "delightfully quirky" sense of humor made him smile and how she generally brightened his days. How he looked forward every morning to seeing her again and working with her. She noticed how he rapidly went from referring to her as "Miss Cillian" to simply "Cassandra" in only a few weeks in the journal.

He also noted several instances of the sensory overloads and the resulting nosebleeds that she used to have, spoke of how "alarmed" he was when they occurred and how her health in general concerned him a great deal, how much he admired her quiet bravery and strength as she lived with her illness day to day. One entry in particular brought tears to her eyes; after a particularly grueling overload episode, he complained bitterly about how unfair it was that such a "good, kind-hearted, beautiful and gentle soul" like Cassandra should have her life cut so cruelly short, while "old, useless, angry souls twisted by centuries of resentment and disappointment" like Jenkins are allowed to live on.

Eventually she came to an entry she was looking for: June 23, 2017, a few days after her surgery to remove the brain tumor.

" _The last several days have been very trying and confusing. First, Cassandra utterly surprised me by asking me out on a date—an actual, romantic date! Apparently she has had feelings for me for some time now and, oblivious fool that I am, I never noticed them. Actually, that's not entirely true—I_ _have_ _noticed them, but I've tried to tell myself that they weren't real. After all, how could someone like her have any kind of romantic interest in an old man like me?_

" _I learned later that she had just come from Dr. Nassir, and when she asked me out she was fully expecting to die_ _very_ _soon. When I learned that, I was sickened and disgusted with myself for refusing her. She wanted to spend a few of the last precious hours she had left with_ _me_ _, and I rebuffed her. I gave her the logical excuses, told her I was far too old for her, that we had nothing in common. Cassandra later criticized me for being afraid of 'starting something that I couldn't finish', of being afraid of life itself, implying that I was incapable of loving anyone at all because of that fear, accused me of wasting all of the life that I had and for which she would do anything to have. Her words stung me deeply, and before I could stop myself I told her of my love for Charlene (without using her name, of course), and of the vow I made to her, when I was young and still living under the delusion that there might still be a chance of being with her._

" _Then there was the night at the hospital after her collapse at the spa. Thank God I found that card of Dr. Nassir's, that I discovered the truth and that we were able to find her and get her there in time! I think my heart stopped in my chest when I saw her fall. And thank God that I was able to have a few minutes with her before they took her to surgery! Despite her brave front, she was clearly terrified, and my heart ached for her. I tried to reassure her, and as I was speaking to her it suddenly struck me that it may_ _still_ _be too late for her, that she might die during surgery, that this might very well be_ _the last_ _time I ever speak to her—I told her that I loved her. And then they took her away, and I stared after her through the window in the door leading to the operating room, wishing with every fiber of my being that I could take her place, that I could take all of the fear and uncertainty and pain she was experiencing onto myself, that if she was meant to die that night that I could take her place in that as well._

" _I found myself spending the next several hours in the waiting room with the others, pacing incessantly and unable to think of anything but Cassandra. I went back over the last three years in my mind, to all of the interactions Cassandra and I have had, and suddenly I could see how her feelings for me had grown and blossomed. And I could see my own feelings for her growing in response—all of the shared touches, the looks, the smiles, the silly jokes we shared._

" _I didn't realize until that very moment that I realized that I_ _did_ _love her,_ _very much_ _. I have truly fallen_ _in_ _love with Cassandra._

" _When the surgeon at last came out and told us that she had survived the operation, that they were successful in removing the tumor—words cannot adequately express how relieved I was! Like a crushing weight had finally been lifted off of my chest! When we were finally allowed to see her, I had to fight to keep from weeping—she looked so small and frail, so pale, so..._ _sick_ _. After so many months of seeing her so lively and bubbly, it was easy to forget she had a terminal illness. This was the first time I had ever actually seen her_ _look_ _sick, it was terrifying to me. I wanted to push my way to her bedside and hold her hand, to brush my fingers against her cheek and tell her again that I love her—but I didn't. I was a coward. Perhaps she's right, perhaps I_ _am_ _afraid of loving someone, perhaps I_ _am_ _afraid of living._

" _And there's the matter of my vow to Charlene. I promised_ _her_ _my heart for all eternity; just because she refuses me, that does not give me leave to abandon an oath made on my honor as a knight. I must somehow put aside these new feelings for Cassandra, before things go any further and I end up hurting her. And I mustn't encourage her feelings for me, either—my stupidity in the matter has already caused enough damage to both Cassandra and myself. With time, she'll forget me, she'll find someone her own age to love and who'll love her in return, she deserves that. She is young, and beautiful, and gifted, and now she has her whole life ahead of her. I mustn't stand in the way of her happiness, mustn't allow her to throw that new-found life away on a useless fool old enough to be her great-grandfather 20 times over; it would be unforgivably cruel and unfair to her._

" _If only we had met a few centuries ago…"_

Cassandra sat numbly on the hard desk chair, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Poor Jenkins! She shuddered inwardly at the memory of how angry and hurt she had been when he refused to go out with her, how she lashed out at him when she learned of Flynn and Simone and their relationship. Of course she had no idea that at the time that he loved Charlene or that his vow had been made to her, not that that would've stopped Cassandra from loving Jenkins. And it broke her heart to read how he blamed himself for everything, as usual, and to read how he referred to himself as a broken, useless old man, with the insinuation that he was just naturally unlovable, undesirable.

From the very beginning she had never seen the Caretaker as old, and certainly not broken or useless. He was grouchy and resentful of them at first, true, but in her eyes, Jenkins had also always been an intelligent, thoughtful man and a brilliant scientist. When she learned his true identity, her admiration for him only grew—to think of all the things he had seen and experienced, all of the people he had known! It also helped to explain why, despite his best efforts to hide it, he always seemed to her to be so sad underneath his brusque exterior, so lonely. He seemed in the beginning like someone in desperate need of a friend, and so she made the effort to be one to him. The boys thought she was crazy for trying to reach out to the annoying old man who made no secret of the fact that he wished they would all just go away, but Cassandra sensed that was just a front, a wall he had built to protect himself, to protect his heart. And as it all turned out, she had been right.

The Librarian brushed her tears away and began thumbing through the pages again. She scanned the entries for early August of 2017 until she found what she was looking for, a brief entry made just after the defeat of Apep.

" _Apep is defeated, a world plunged into chaos has been averted. Mr. Carsen and Col. Baird had a plan all along, but of which I was not informed. They allowed DOSA to enter the Library to loot its treasures, including myself. I was taken in chains to a storage facility and locked into a box, for the rest of eternity for all I knew. But as dire as my situation was, I found myself thinking of the others, of Cassandra, and hoping that she was safe, and that she would be all right without the Library to protect her. Without_ _me_ _to protect her. After a few hours, she and the others came to my rescue, however, and I was never so happy to see her—though I was careful to conceal it. I wanted nothing more than to sweep her up into a fervent bear hug and kiss her soft cheek, but I did not. That would have been in appropriate. When she arrived at the Annex this morning, I did give her my best court bow, allowed myself to kiss her hand and her forehead, ostensibly as thanks for her help in getting me away from DOSA. I did it against my better judgment, but I'm glad now that I did. I will never forget the look of sheer joy on her face as long as I live, nor the feeling of joy in my heart when I saw it."_

Cassandra smiled as she remembered that morning, how surprised she had been, how deliriously happy his little demonstration of affection had made her. She'd been worried sick about him, too, from the second she spied him chained down on that dolly until they had been able to free him from that awful box. The thought of life without Jenkins had been so utterly... _heartbreaking_.

The young woman hurried on, anxious to find the one entry that she was most interested in. A few pages later she found it, dated September 6, 2017, three days after the first time she and Jenkins had spent the night together.

" _Not only have I now openly confessed my love for Cassandra and she her love for me, we have actually consummated it._

" _It began when Mr. Jones introduced a domesticated rat into the Annex, thereby triggering my phobia of them. It caught me off-guard, and I completely lost control of myself. After ranting and raving at the three Librarians, I retreated to my rooms. After a time Cassandra came to me, with a cup a tea and a sympathetic ear. I was still somewhat overwrought, and I lashed out at her cruelly. I impetuously showed her the scar on my arm. Of course she wanted to know the story behind it, and even though my brain told me to keep silent, my heart suddenly ached to share it with her, and so I did. To my own horror I told her_ _everything_ _, I shared one of the blackest, most humiliating chapters of my life with her. Perhaps I was subconsciously hoping to scare her off—what sane woman, after all, would want to have anything to do with a man who was stupid enough to fall into the hands of people to torture and sexually abuse him? But she listened to every word without judgement. There was no disgust or revulsion in her eyes, only sympathy and caring. Only love._

" _We talked about what happened, about Hopkins and what his men did to me. We talked about Charlene and me, about Cassandra and me. The more we talked, the more I wanted to hold her, or even just to touch her. In the end I asked if I could touch her cheek, and before I even knew what I was doing I was kissing her, touching her intimately, and even though I was terrified of what I knew in my heart was coming next, it was something that I knew I wanted with every atom of my being. Suddenly we were in the bedroom, stripping our clothes off. I saw Cassandra's naked body for the first time, and it was like standing before a goddess—she was so_ _painfully_ _beautiful! She was perfect, flawless, the very embodiment of feminine beauty!_

" _And then I had to let her see_ _mine_ _, my old, scarred, ruined body. I was afraid, ashamed—what would she think when she saw me? How would she feel about me when she realized that I'm just as damaged and repulsive on the outside as I am on the inside? I thought that my ugliness must surely drive her away—don't all beautiful young women dream of having a tall, handsome young suitor? I'm_ _none_ _of those things, but I went through with it anyway. I've been such a coward with her up to this point, I was determined to 'man up' this time and take whatever consequences resulted. I took my clothes off and showed her clearly how unworthy of her I am._

" _I fully expected her to flinch at the sight in some way—turn her head away, close her eyes, to hurriedly put her clothes back on and beat a hasty retreat. But she didn't do any of that. She looked me over from head to toe, and_ _still_ _all I saw in her eyes was love. No disgust, no horror or disappointment. And then she came to me and_ _touched_ _me, the first woman to do so in over a century, and God forgive me, it felt so_ _good_ _!_

" _Cassandra asked me to lie on the bed, and I did so, and then another unbelievable thing happened: She_ _kissed_ _my scars, every single one, so softly and gently, even the one on my arm. And I knew that she wasn't doing it out of pity or charity; I knew in my heart that she was doing it out of love, for me._ _For me!_ _I can still scarcely wrap my mind around it!_

" _We made love that night, and even now, three days later, I can scarcely get my mind around_ _that_ _! That a woman as lovely and good as Cassandra would_ _willingly_ _want to join her body with mine! Yet she did, and it was_ _glorious_ _! After so many years alone, I hadn't realized until that night how starved I was for the touch of another, how starved I was for the_ _love_ _of another. We shared our bodies with one another, and it felt so natural, so perfect. I felt..._ _wanted_ _, needed. I felt like a_ _man_ _again, as unfashionable as it may be to feel that way these days._

" _But even with as good as I felt with her, though, after our passions had been spent I almost sent her away. I wanted to be the one who ends this thing before she can come to her senses, before she realized what a terrible mistake she'd made and sent me away, because I feared that would finally be the end of me, being rejected by Cassandra Cillian._

" _But every morning for the last three days I have awoken and eagerly gone to the Annex workroom, and every morning for the last three days she has appeared, like a flame-haired princess of the Fay, rushing to kiss me in greeting and to murmur into my ear how much she missed me during the night, how much she loves me, and I feel such_ _joy_ _and such_ _peace_ _that I've never known before in my entire, sorry life._

" _Part of me is still terrified that this is all just a dream of some sort, that'll I'll wake up soon and discover that I'm still alone in the Annex, that there was never a group of 'LITs' to be trained, that there is no Cassandra. I don't know where this road will lead, but I pray God that it leads only to happiness, especially for her. My brain still tells me to end it,_ _now_ _, before I end up being hurt again, before I end up hurting_ _her_ _, but my heart will not hear of it."_

Cassandra beamed through fresh tears as she read the entry and remembered that wonderful night. How could he think that she would be disgusted by his looks, that he wasn't handsome? He was the handsomest man in the entire world, his scars didn't detract from that at all! She remembered how fearful he was that night, remembered how he trembled as he held her in his arms—a man who had fought in the bloodiest wars, faced the most terrible foes imaginable, both magical and non-magical— _he_ had been trembling in fear of _her_! If she hadn't known better she might've thought that night was his very first time with a woman. But soon enough he took control, and while their lovemaking had been passionate and unrestrained, Jenkins had also been so gentle and tender with her, as though he was afraid he might damage her. It was a night that she would never forget for as long as she lived…

"Cassandra? What on earth are you doing in here?"

At the sound of Jenkins's confused voice, the memories Cassandra had been lost in evaporated. Startled, she jumped up from the chair, slamming the journal shut, her eyes wide and guilt-stricken.

"Jenkins!" she nearly shrieked. "I didn't hear you come in!" Her husband cocked his head, his perplexed face registering some apprehension. His gaze then fell to the desktop, and onto the thick green book beneath his wife's hands. His dark eyes widened as he recognized the book and, understanding what he had just interrupted, his expression instantly went from confused to completely unreadable. Cassandra saw the change, and her chest suddenly felt as though she was being crushed under a heavy stone.

"I'm so sorry, Jenkins!" she whispered fearfully. "I am so, _so_ sorry! I know I shouldn't have looked at it, I was working in my room and my pen ran out of ink and so I was looking for a pen, and I opened the drawer and saw it and I knew I shouldn't read it but I was just curious to see what you'd written about me and about us and I just told myself I would only look at a couple of lines but then I got curious about certain dates and I know I _know_ I betrayed your trust and I'm so sorry I'm so _so_ sorry _please_ forgive me sweetheart it'll never happen again I _swear_ just please don't be angry with me _please_ don't hate me…!"

Cassandra was sobbing by then, nearly hysterical. The crushing feeling in her chest had quickly blossomed into a full-blown panic. She dropped into the chair behind the desk and curled up in it, covering her face with her hands as she wept.

"I'll never do it again, I swear! Just _please_ don't hate me!" she wailed , curling herself even more tightly into a ball as she waited for his angry reaction to her betrayal.

Jenkins stood staring at his wife, stunned by her reaction. He was irritated that Cassandra was reading his journal, yes, but he wasn't angry; even if he _was_ angry with her, he most certainly wouldn't hate her for something like that. How could she even think such a thing of him?

Jenkins stared at her for a few seconds, dumbfounded. He was reminded of a hunting hound he once owned _many_ years ago, one that he'd rescued from an ill-tempered man in the habit of beating the poor animal. For months the hound was skittish and fearful, literally flinching every time Jenkins moved, afraid of being beaten by its new master. Suddenly, it dawned on Jenkins what was happening—he remembered Richard, the ex-boyfriend, and how _he_ had abused Cassandra. A sickening horror shot through the Caretaker then; like the mistreated hound, his realized that his wife was expecting a beating from _him_.

Horrified, Jenkins moved to his crying wife's side and gently put his arms around her. His heart clenched painfully when she flinched violently at his touch. He rubbed her trembling shoulders through the thin robe reassuringly.

"Shhhhh! It's all right, Cassandra, I'm not angry with you! I don't hate you—I could _never_ hate you! It's all right!" he repeated soothingly. He coaxed her out of the chair, and as soon as she was on her feet he wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair and gently rocking with her as her sobs eventually quieted to small hiccoughs. She was still trembling like a small bird when he dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and began to dry the tears on her pale cheeks.

"Feel better now?" he asked, handing over the handkerchief, and Cassandra nodded her head.

"I'm sorry about all of that," she said sheepishly as she sniffled and wiped her nose. Jenkins chuckled in response.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said.

"Yes, I do!" she protested harshly, her normally smooth brow wrinkling as she frowned. "I totally violated your privacy! I really _was_ looking for a pen, and I just ran across your journal, and I _knew_ I shouldn't read it, but I did anyway, and I'm so sorry!" Her voice cracked as fresh tears threatened to fall. Jenkins stood back from her and placed his hands lightly on her face, forcing her to look up at him.

"Cassandra, there is nothing in that book that I'm ashamed for you to see. Except, perhaps, for a few of the entries I made just after you and others arrived in the Annex," he said. "Everything I wrote in that book is the truth, and I'm not ashamed for you to know the truth, especially when it comes to how I feel about you." He bent his white head down and kissed her forehead. He was relieved and pleased to see a small smile come to her lips as he straightened again.

"Come, my dear," he said as he led her over to the sofa. "Sit with me and let's talk for a bit."

Cassandra dropped onto the sofa while Jenkins removed his coat and draped it neatly over a chair. He sat down and scooted over to his wife's side, took her into his arms. As she settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, he bent his head to kiss her temple affectionately. Cassandra's hand rose to brush the back of his hand.

"I really am sorry for reading your journal," she said quietly. Jenkins tightened his arm around her in a quick hug.

"It's all right, my dear, there's no harm done," he replied, but Cassandra shook her head.

"No, it's _not_ all right!" she answered angrily. "I know you've had your trust betrayed by people in the past, and I promised myself that _I_ would be different, that you would _always_ be able to trust _me_! And then I go and do something stupid like this!" Jenkins felt a warm tear drop onto the back of his hand and cool. Taking a quiet breath, he raised his other hand to stroke her arm.

"I trust you, Cassandra, without reservation," he said.

"How?" she demanded. "How can you trust me after this?"

"It was only a diary, my dear. Should you have read it without my permission? No. But after some of the betrayals I've experienced in my life, _this_ is nothing more than a faint blip on my 'betrayal radar'! You merely learned about things that I should've had the courage to say to your face years ago. Had you discovered something that troubled you in any way, or if I was troubled by something you discovered in that book, we would've talked about it. Or yelled about it, depending on how much upset it caused," he chuckled. "But the point is, we would've worked it out, just like we're doing right now. Because we _do_ love and trust each other so much." Cassandra sighed deeply.

"Yeah, I suppose so," she agreed quietly.

"In fact, did you happen to notice that I haven't made any entries in that journal in over a year?" he asked. Cassandra furrowed her brow, then looked up Jenkins.

"Now that you mention it, there _weren't_ any recent entries," she said. "How come?"

"Because now I have _you_ to confide in now," he informed her, gently pulling her closer to himself. "I have you to entrust all of my thoughts and ideas and secrets to." Cassandra turned her face up to him, her glistening eyes full of adoration.

"You're the best Tree-husband ever!" she murmured, emotion making her voice catch slightly. "But I still feel awful for sneaking behind your back and reading your diary."

"Would it help to assuage your guilt if I gave you a penance to perform, in reparation for your sin?" he asked after a moment's pause. His tone was playful, but Cassandra took the offer seriously.

"Yes!" she immediately answered. "I'd do anything to make this up to you!" Jenkins laid his head against hers for a moment, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he considered.

"Hmmm," he rumbled thoughtfully, then turned his head awkwardly to look down into her face. "What were you reading about, exactly?"

"I was reading about the first time we met—I was curious what you thought of me that first time. Then when you first admitted to being in love with me, that night in the hospital. What you were feeling after our first night together..." she finished the list a little bashfully. Jenkins smiled as a suitable penance came to him.

"I think, then, it's only fair for you to share something personal with me," he said loftily. "So this is what I want to know: When did _you_ first know that you were in love with _me_?" Cassandra smiled and cuddled against his chest.

"That's a pretty weak penance," she said.

"Nonetheless, that's what I want to know," he countered amiably.

"You won't believe me," she declared.

"Try me!"

"I fell in love with you the day we met," she murmured, suddenly subdued.

"Really?" Jenkins replied, surprised. "Even though I didn't exactly roll out a red carpet in welcome for any of you?" He felt her nod her head.

"Yep," she said. "Do you remember how upset I was right after we got back from London? And how mistrustful everyone was of me? How everyone just sort of shunned me for a while?"

"Indeed, I do," he answered shortly, a note of displeasure in his voice even after all of this time.

"A couple of hours after we came back to the Annex, you took me aside and asked me point-blank _why_ I had betrayed the Library," she continued sadly. "And I explained to you about my synesthesia and the tumor and how the Serpent Brotherhood promised they would cure me with magic."

"I remember," he said softly.

"I was watching your expression the whole time, trying to figure out how angry you were going to be and prepare myself for it. The others said that you were kind of mad about us being there in the first place, so I was really afraid that you were going to throw me out onto the streets or just hate me for the whole time I was here or something like that," she said. "Except…I didn't see anything like that—no anger, no hate." All I saw was...kindness, and concern."

"Your reasons were _perfectly_ understandable," he stated simply.

"Maybe so, but even Eve and Flynn weren't sure about me. But I know you went out and talked to all of them privately," she said. "After that, everyone was nicer to me, or at least not so obvious about how much they mistrusted me."

"I merely told them that they needed to 'cut you some slack', I believe the expression goes. They were being grossly unfair to you, and I don't tolerate that kind of behavior," he said, his voice hard. Cassandra sniggered quietly.

"You were very nice to me, you stood up for me, even though I betrayed the Library and let everyone down," she quickly said. "You _cared_ about how they were treating me. You _cared_ that I was sick, that I was going to die one day soon."

"I was only concerned with the team's cohesiveness," he fibbed with forced blitheness; he didn't like to even think of Cassandra dying. "There were no personal feelings involved." Cassandra drew away from him so she could glare at him.

"You are such a liar!" she scolded playfully, then snuggled back into his arms.

"Admit it, sweetie—your bark is _way_ worse than your bite!" she giggled. "I should've guessed then that you were a knight of some kind; you saw a damsel in distress and you came to my rescue. And I knew you did that only because you cared about me."

"Oh? And just _how_ is it that you knew so much about me so early on, my dear?" he questioned the Librarian haughtily.

"I saw it in your eyes whenever we were together," she said thoughtfully. "On the outside you were all gruff and grouchy and mean, but I could see the truth. You were lonely, but you were afraid of us, too, because you've been hurt too much in the past. Too many people betrayed you, and you didn't want to let anyone else in because it would just hurt too much in the end. But even despite all of that fear—you _still_ _cared_ about me, you let _me_ in, just a tiny bit _._ You supported me when I needed support the most. And _that's_ when I fell in love with you. That's why I swore to myself that you would _always_ be able to trust _me_."

Jenkins said nothing for several long minutes. Cassandra could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand, the astonished man barely breathing as her words sunk in.

"Yes, well," he mumbled uneasily. Jenkins turned on the sofa so that he was facing Cassandra, and laid a large, calloused hand to her smooth, soft cheek, his dark brown eyes burning into hers for what seemed forever before he spoke again.

"If I'm truly honest with myself, that was when I fell in love with you, too," he finally whispered. "But I didn't dare admit it, not even to myself."

"Because of Charlene and your vow?" Cassandra asked softly, and he nodded.

"In part," he admitted.

"I noticed there wasn't an entry for when she passed away," she said hesitantly.

"It was too painful even to write about," he answered, taking her hand in his. "I _did_ love her, very much, but not in the same way I love you. I owed Charlene a great deal, I think much of my love for her was born more out of gratitude, out of a sense of indebtedness, rather than true affection. She was the one who brought me into the Library, did you know that? She introduced me to the Library, set me up in the position of Caretaker, taught me how to read and write..."

"She _what_?" yelped Cassandra, turning her head to look up into her husband's face. "What do you mean, taught you to read and write?"

"Just what I said. I was almost completely illiterate when I came to the Library," he said self-consciously, dropping his gaze. "Most people were in those days, even amongst the nobility and royalty. A man was lucky if he could sign his own name. Literacy simply wasn't considered important or necessary back then. But Charlene convinced me of the necessity of it, and so I begrudgingly learned how to read and write. Latin first, then ancient Greek, then English, then the various European languages, then back to several ancient languages." Enthusiasm filled the immortal's voice as spoke.

"I quickly realized how foolish my reluctance was—entire worlds were now open to me through books, I wanted to learn _everything_ about _everything_! History, art, literature, the various sciences—I read anything I could get my hands on." Cassandra looked up into her husband's face, her clear blue eyes full of understanding and empathy.

"Books became your friends," she said. "Your only _real_ friends. They were always there for you, they never judged you, they never ridiculed you, they never betrayed or abandoned you." Jenkins looked down and met her gaze, taken aback. Cassandra smiled weakly.

"I've been there myself," she said, then laid her head back onto his shoulder and snuggled into his body. "Unfortunately, books can't give you a kiss when you need one, or a big hug you when you're feeling like the world's biggest loser, or anything like that."

"Indeed," Jenkins sighed, almost whispering. The two sat quietly together for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts and memories, each taking comfort in the presence of the other.

The clock on the wall softly chimed midnight. Jenkins turned his head and lightly kissed his Librarian's head, then nuzzled her silky hair as a tiny smile came to his lips.

"I know of something else that books can't do," he murmured invitingly. Cassandra smiled.

"Do you?" she replied, all innocence in her voice. "What _ever_ would that be?" Jenkins quickly removed his arms from her and stood up, then offered her his hand.

"It's a little difficult for me to explain in words; why don't I show you, instead?" he said, his dark brown eyes twinkling. Cassandra took the proffered hand and let him help her up from the sofa.

"Why don't you?" she asked teasingly, her hand running lightly up his arm as she looked directly into his eyes. Jenkins bent and easily swept Cassandra up into his arms, causing her to squeak in surprise. She soon broke into soft giggles as he proudly carried her into their bedroom, whispering little promises into her ear along the way about what was to come.


End file.
